


Lathered Up

by thatmasquedgirl



Series: Monsters in the Mirror [13]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: (i love this tag and i will die with it), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Deathstroke!Felicity, F/M, Flirting, Mutual Pining, Olicity Summer Sizzle 2019, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak Unresolved Sexual Tension, One Shot, POV Oliver Queen, Showers, Slow Burn, So much flirting, Sorry Not Sorry, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, also i need y'all to know, i took a smut prompt and made it not smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 16:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19931050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmasquedgirl/pseuds/thatmasquedgirl
Summary: After getting cold outside, Oliver and Felicity warm up together.A Monsters fic involving showers and a lot of sexual tension.Written for Olicity Summer Sizzle 2019.Prompt:  in the shower





	Lathered Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the last thing for the next week, since I'm studying for my licensing exam. But I _had_ to post this thing. ;)

Boots squeaking with every step he takes, Oliver takes the stairs into the foundry. Already the mud is starting to harden. Combined with the wet from the rain, the green leather is cold and unforgiving. A chill shudders through him, and he refrains from going back to put an arrow through the man on the List he chased through the park during a thunderstorm.

He hasn’t been this cold since his first year on the island. After spending three years on it, Oliver had become acclimated to the humid days and cold nights. But that first year, when he barely knew how to survive and was used to the luxuries of warm clothes, he thought he’d never be warm again.

Oliver immediately turns toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. His quiver, bow, and fleshettes go to the counter before he turns to his clothes. Peeling off the layers of wet clothing only serves to make him shiver more, as the chill of the foundry’s temperature hits exposed skin.

As soon as he’s free of them, he twists the hot water valve on the shower up all the way. When steam starts to coat the frosted glass of the shower, he steps in with a sigh. Even after the island, he doesn’t think he appreciated a hot shower more than this.

He stands there for several minutes, letting the hot water run over his back. His eyes close of their own accord, savoring the feeling on his skin. Absently, he reaches out to adjust the temperature, his thoughts going quiet for the first time in a very long time.

The door slams somewhere in the foundry. He jolts upright, reaching for the butterfly knife Felicity left in the shower months ago. Flicking it open and raising it over his head, he waits for the intruder, perfectly still.

When the bathroom door opens, he tenses, but even through the frosted glass, he can recognize that black silhouette with a black and gold mask. He places the knife back on the shelf, next to the shampoo she brought with her last month.

“Is that a knife in your hand, or are you just happy to see me?” Felicity quips without missing a beat, though her tone is shaky. Her swords scratch across the counter. “Though if you stab me with my own knife, you can consider our friendship over.”

“I thought you’d be home after this,” is Oliver’s reply, though he does smile at her words. In fact, he had been planning to stop by her house and see her. Maybe they could finish their Harry Potter movie marathon.

“I would normally,” is her reply. A violent shudder passes through her. “Except we had a pipe burst under the house. They can’t come fix it until Monday. So no water until next week.”

There’s a clicking sound as she pauses. “The Triad is down a captain, but I had to dive into the ocean to get away from the police.” Her boot squelches as she takes it off. “Your crush object with a badge chased me though the port. She’s surprisingly quick.”

“I don’t have a crush on McKenna,” Oliver replies with a sigh. No matter how many times they have this conversation, Felicity still insists on calling her that. They weren’t even sleeping together before the island. “I told you, she was involved with Tommy.”

“And _I’m_ telling _you_ that she’d really like to be involved with _you_ now,” Felicity insists, for the umpteenth time. “Trust me, I know the way women who are interested look at you. And Hall is _very_ interested.” The clicking resumes as she finishes talking, combined with a shiver.

It dawns on him that her teeth are chattering, so Oliver reaches for the towel he hung up. “If you’ll let me step out—”

“Absolutely not,” she insists, steamrolling over the top of him. “It looks like you got yourself into a wrestling match in the mud tonight. You’re probably just as cold as I am.” He can see the blurry silhouette of her sliding her pants down her legs, and he tries not to stare. When her shirt starts coming up, he turns on instinct, though he probably wouldn’t be able to see anything through the frosted glass.

“I’m warmer now,” he assures her, though he doesn’t move. With her in a state of undress outside, he can’t exactly step out, but he doesn’t want to stay in and let her freeze, either.

He jumps when the shower door opens. Oliver turns partially, only to turn back when he sees bare shoulders. “Felicity, what are you doing?” he asks, his voice an octave higher than normal. Maybe even two octaves.

“Getting in the shower with you,” she answers easily, as though this is something they do every day and _he’s_ the one acting strange. “We’re both cold and tired, and I don’t see why either one of us should have to give up the hot shower.”

She releases a long sigh as the spray of water hits her skin, her foot brushing against his. Felicity has apparently decided to try to kill him in a unique way tonight. “I promise to keep my eyes north of the Equator. I’m not trying to get a look at you naked. Or instigate shower sex.” Fingers brush against his back as she waves her hand. “And you’re too much of a gentleman to stare at me without permission.”

The words fly out of his mouth without permission: “For once, I actually wish you thought I was a cad.”

Felicity laughs. “What’s wrong, Queen?” she taunts, a challenge laced through her voice. When she uses that tone, it has a tendency to get both of them into trouble. “Are you afraid of taking a shower with me?”

Oliver doesn’t quite know how to answer. It isn’t that he’s afraid of _her_ ; it’s that he’s afraid of _himself_. Felicity doesn’t seem to be aware of it, but she just keeps drawing him in. Something about her makes him feel like he’s a moth circling ever closer to a flame. The only problem with circling a flame is that it’s all too easy to get burned.

Finally, he settles on saying, “I think you underestimate how difficult it is to keep my eyes off you.”

Her breath catches, soft but unmistakable from the spray of the water. Silence stretches between them for several heartbeats. “I never had any idea you found me attractive at all.”

Oliver nearly turns to give her an incredulous look, but rethinks it at the last moment. Instead he settles for saying in a dry tone, “I have eyes, Felicity.”

Silence falls upon them again, hitting just as hard as the spray of the shower. “Oh, come on, Oliver,” is her reply. “I’ve seen the tabloid photos. I’m not so arrogant to think you’d give me a second glance after Russian ballerinas, Brazilian models, cops that _look_ like models—”

“I didn’t date McKenna,” he tries again with a sigh.

She ignores him. “—and A-list actresses.” Felicity snorts. “Or even leggy, drop-dead-gorgeous Laurel Lance.”

The _last_ thing Oliver wants to think about is Laurel—especially with a naked Felicity Smoak standing behind him—but he has to admit there’s a small thread of truth in her argument. He has always gravitated toward women who are instantly striking, beautiful in a way that hits him like a battering ram. Five years ago, Felicity wouldn’t have been the kind of woman that would catch his attention from across the room.

But Felicity isn’t the kind of beauty that’s meant to be appreciated from across the room and then quickly forgotten after one night of fun. Hers is more subtle, found in long training sessions and playful smirks. She might not be the first woman he’d look at in the crowd, but she’s hard to look away from and impossible to forget.

If he said something like that to her, she’d run and it would be _weeks_ before they were back to normal. Instead, he tries for a lighter tone with, “So you’re saying I have discerning tastes.”

“Exactly.” Felicity’s reply comes quick, as though she’s missed his teasing altogether. “It makes no sense why you would spare _me_ a second glance.” She makes a noise in her throat. “I might have been pretty enough at some point in my life, but… well, I have a few too many scars for that. I’m just… damaged. _Broken_.”

This time, Oliver is unable to resist turning to face her. In such close quarters, he has to lower his gaze to look at her. He does so carefully, making sure that his eyes don’t leave hers.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much insecurity on someone so confident. Maybe that’s another of her masks she wears—or maybe she can just bury this down most of the time. As usual, she can’t seem to realize her own worth.

Tough he knows it’s inviting trouble, Oliver can’t stop himself from reaching out to cup her face. It brings a smile to her lips, shy and secretive. “A good friend of mine once told me about a type of Japanese pottery,” he tells her. He can’t remember the name of it, but, to be fair, he was very drunk at the time. “Shards put together with metallic finish. It’s more beautiful because it’s been broken in the past.” He offers her a soft smile. “I think you are, too.”

Though she pulls away with a roll of her eyes, a smile overtakes her face. Oliver wonders for a moment how she could ever think he _wouldn’t_ find her beautiful. “Flatterer,” she accuses, swatting his chest.

Except it doesn’t stop as just a teasing slap. Her hand stops just below his pectorals, at the top of his abs. Her eyes drop to follow it.

Feeling his face heat under her staring, he gently tilts her face up to his. “My eyes are up here,” he teases.

Felicity pulls her hand back as if he’d tazed her, cheeks turning red. It spreads down her neck, too, and Oliver barely refrains from looking to see just how far down it goes. “I didn’t mean to gawk,” she assures him. “I just…” She makes a vague gesture to his chest. “It’s hard not to.”

Suddenly she’s on her toes, reaching for the top of his head. Oliver closes his eyes as he tilts his head down for her. “You still have mud in your hair,” she tells him.

Before he can reach for it himself, he can hear the sound of the shampoo bottle. The scent of strawberries fills the air—not his more bland shampoo—before her fingers go to his head.

Oliver nearly groans at the sensation of her hands massaging his scalp. He hasn’t had anyone do this since… well, _ever_. When he showered with a woman in the past, they were typically more concerned with sex than getting clean. Felicity’s hands in his hair somehow feels more intimate than all of those times combined.

Too soon, it ends. “I think you should be good,” she says, her voice oddly quiet.

Oliver takes a step toward her so that he can take advantage of the shower’s spray. When he lifts his head again, Felicity has her back to him, shampoo bottle in her hands. Unable to stop himself, he places his hands over hers, taking the bottle from her. “Let me,” he offers, his voice quiet.

Slowly, her hands fall, lowering her head. Oliver squirts a handful of shampoo into his palm before working it through her hair with both hands. He gently works out any tangles he finds before massaging the shampoo deeper into her scalp. A low hum comes from her throat, which Oliver feels in places that really shouldn’t be noticing.

It takes everything within him to drop his hands. Felicity backs into the spray of water, and Oliver scrambles out of her way. She pulls her hair over her shoulder to wring it out, exposing those broken wings tattooed across her shoulder blades.

Unable to resist, he reaches a hand out to touch the right one. Felicity tenses at first before relaxing, offering him a smile over her shoulder. Taking that as permission, his other hand falls on her left shoulder blade. His hands splay across the painted wings, tracing the jagged lines of ink.

From the first time he saw them, he marveled at them. Those bloody, broken wings make Felicity look like an avenging angel. They make a stark contrast to her blonde hair and bright lipstick, but that’s part of what makes them fit so well: vengeance may be violent and bloody, but it can be sweet, too.

When his hands fall away, Felicity turns to face him with a smirk. She takes two steps toward him, forcing Oliver to take a step back. His back hits the glass, but she keeps moving. His breath catches, unsure of the way she keeps her eyes on his own. Bare skin brushes his thigh.

And then she dances away with a smile and the towel hanging on the bar.

As she wraps it around herself, she reminds him, “I told you I wasn’t interested in shower sex with you.” She waves a hand. “I mean, you’re ridiculously handsome, but I’m terminally single.” Oliver has never been more disappointed by that fact than now, as he watches her tuck the end of the towel between the tops of her breasts.

She looks up to meet his eyes, a smile playing on her lips. “Thanks for sharing your shower. I don’t feel frozen solid anymore.” Her smile turns more toward a smirk. “I promise I kept my eyes to myself.” As she opens the door and steps out, she adds a, “For the most part.”

His heart skips a beat. Part of the reason he’s avoided intimacy since the island is because of the scars and the tattoos—things that would have women asking questions he didn’t want to answer. The thought of her seeing everything should be terrifying, but it only makes his face heat.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Oliver calls out, his voice an octave higher than normal.

“It means I didn’t see anything,” Felicity repeats, but her playful tone only makes him more suspicious. A rustle of fabric follows. “The parts I _did_ see, though…” She makes a low noise in her throat that affects parts of him it shouldn’t. “Well, you have _nothing_ to be ashamed of, Oliver.” Her hand slides through the door, offering him a towel.

Taking it and draping it around his waist, Oliver calls, “I could same to you.”

As he exits the shower, she turns to face him, eyebrows narrowed in confusion. “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Her expression fades as her eyes travel down his body and back up. Oliver only raises an eyebrow, causing her to blush again. This time he’s pleased to discover it _does_ spread down her neck and across her chest.

“I didn’t see anything,” Oliver answers, reaching for the cabinet where they keep extra clothing. From the left side, he pulls out one of her pink shirts and a pair of sweatpants. From the right side, he takes a black t-shirt and gray sweats. “But if I _did_ ,” he allows, “I would assure you that you have nothing to feel insecure about.”

She slides the black sweats up her legs, under the towel. When she bends over, she gives him a nice view of her cleavage. He affords himself only a few seconds before looking away. Turning, he focuses on his own sweatpants, pulling the towel away when he finishes.

“Liar,” she accuses, causing Oliver to turn to her. She pulls the pink shirt down just in time for him to get a flash of her lower back, but nothing more. “I’ve changed clothes around you too many times to believe that you would sneak a glance.”

“I’m only human,” he replies with a small smile.

Maybe he’s only goading her, but he needs Felicity to know how he feels. It took everything he had to keep his eyes off of her. There was only one reason why he didn’t hazard a glance, and it wasn’t for fear of her reaction.

The first time he sees her naked, he wants it to be because she _lets_ him.

Maybe Felicity is right about all the times she’s called him a romantic, but he doesn’t want a few seconds to glance at her. He wants the time to take it all in, to explore every inch of her and commit it to memory. That will likely never happen, but it would be worse to see what he can never have.

“Not when it comes to things like that,” Felicity disagrees, shaking her head. “You can try to tease me if you want, but I know you too well to fall for that bullshit, Queen. You kept your eyes to yourself.” She smirks at him. “But me?” Her eyes roam down his body in an appraisal that sets his skin on fire. “I’m not so polite.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. For once, he’s not sure if she’s teasing him or if she’s serious. Felicity doesn’t give him the chance to find out. “Thanks for sharing your shower and getting me all lathered up.” She pauses, a dusting of pink coming to her cheeks. “And by me, I mean my hair. Thanks for washing my hair for me.”

Before he can answer, she’s out the door, leaving him staring after her.

Maybe that’s for the best—because he definitely would have kissed her if she’d stayed.

Felicity might not have been the only one all lathered up.


End file.
